Chapter Four: The First Competition

Director Shen Peng of the Pengcheng Bureau of Culture and Sports was conducting an inspection at the provincial team.

Though Shen Peng was already past fifty, he maintained a fine physique. His face still bore the earnestness and vitality unique to athletes. He belonged to the first generation of professional athletes in the country, with his greatest achievement being a third-place finish in the 100 meters at the Asian Games. After retiring, he entered politics and has always paid close attention to the provincial athletic team, especially the sprinting events.

“Old Lu, there are only two months left until the Provincial Games, and then another six months to the National Games. Do you have confidence?” Shen Peng asked the coach.

“These boys aren’t bad,” the coach replied informally. He and Shen Peng had once been teammates, so despite the difference in their official ranks now, they still shared a common language when talking about sports.

The two of them were walking across the athletics school’s track. Around a dozen young men from the provincial sprint team were running laps to warm up.

“That’s Tian Shiwei, isn’t it?” Shen Peng pointed to the tall, broad-striding young man leading the group.

“That’s right, nineteen this year. He’s been training in athletics for five years, can break eleven seconds in the 100 meters. If he can stabilize his form, he can take the championship at the Provincial Games—getting a good result at the National Games shouldn’t be a problem,” the coach answered.

“Eleven seconds, hmm.” Shen Peng nodded and then shook his head. “It’s not enough. That time might barely get him into the finals at the Asian Games, but at the Olympics…”

He shook his head again, amused by his own thoughts. What was he thinking? The 100-meter dash—the crown jewel of human athletics, the purest embodiment of ‘faster’ in ‘higher, faster, stronger.’ The champion in this event represents not only personal achievement but also symbolizes the strength of a nation’s overall physical quality. The current domestic results are still far from world-class.

“You could run 10.5 seconds. These kids will surpass you one day,” the coach said.

“But other countries are improving faster. Breaking ten seconds is only the starting point for contending for a world title,” Shen Peng replied.

Indeed, from eleven seconds to ten is a mere second, but it represents the pinnacle of human evolution. A cycle ago, ten seconds was seen as an insurmountable barrier. But after Jim Hines first ran 9.95 seconds in 1968, sprinters around the world kept breaking that limit.

After breaking ten seconds, every further improvement—by mere milliseconds—signaled another step forward for human physical achievement. Yet no domestic athlete had managed to cross that ten-second threshold.

“I truly hope to see a homegrown sprinter, draped in the red flag, on the Olympic 100-meter track one day,” Shen Peng said wistfully.

“That’s something for the national sports authority to worry about. If you ever get promoted to that level, remember to pick out all the most promising kids from here and send them to the national team,” the coach said with a smile.

“Aren’t the Provincial and National Games meant to prepare us for the Asian and Olympic Games?” Shen Peng laughed. “This 100-meter track is the fairest place in the world. A truly exceptional athlete will always stand out, no matter how crowded the field.”

…

“What do you think coach and Director Shen are talking about?” whispered someone in the group running laps.

“They must be discussing who will represent us at the National Games in six months,” someone replied. “Especially the 100 meters—that’s Director Shen’s favorite event.”

“That goes without saying—it’ll be Shiwei, who else? Shiwei can run eleven seconds.”

“With Shiwei leading, we might even snag a gold in the 4x100 relay. That would be something.”

“Come on, don’t flatter me,” Tian Shiwei said, nose in the air from all the praise. Just then, he caught sight out of the corner of his eye—at the school gates, that dark-skinned guy was back, his little sister, who looked like a ball of white cotton, in tow.

…

This was the last chance at the trial.

But Lu Suo was fully confident.

His agility had improved slightly from last time, now at 36. His endurance hovered around 89 out of 100. He wore new shoes. Lu Xiaoyu was bouncing nearby, waving a handful of confetti she had found from who knows where, cheering him on.

Though there was now an important-looking elder standing beside the coach, the two discussing something while gesturing at him, Lu Suo felt no pressure at all. He was sure of himself—why bother with nerves?

Bang!

The starting pistol fired.

This time, Lu Suo felt particularly good at the start.

The wind roared past his ears. His heart pounded in his chest. He loved this feeling, pouring every ounce of strength into a fleeting instant, utterly releasing himself. They said it was some kind of chemical in the brain—something “too”—that made people excited and addicted to it. Such a wonderful thing, and it could make money too. If running could earn him a living, why wouldn’t Lu Suo love it?

Beep—

The whistle sounded. That was the signal for the finish line.

“Eleven seventy-five!” the coach called out. “Lu Suo, you passed!”

“Yeah!” Lu Xiaoyu was the first to rush over, throwing herself into Lu Suo’s arms. The siblings hugged in celebration.

“This kid’s not bad—” Shen Peng had watched Lu Suo’s entire trial and, as a professional, he could all the more clearly see how unprofessional Lu Suo was.

“Right? I found a real gem,” the coach said, excitedly turning to the director. “Look at his start, his arm swing, his stride, the way he paces himself in the first fifty meters and manages his energy for the rest. He shows no signs of formal training at all, and yet he can still break twelve seconds.”

“With proper training, he has a bright future,” Shen Peng agreed. He had seen it too—a complete amateur, yet so fast, a true diamond in the rough.

“There are two more attempts,” the coach called to Lu Suo. “Take a ten-minute rest.”

Alright! Lu Suo waved at the coach. Instead of sitting down, he began stretching to recover.

After all, the trial wasn’t a one-shot deal. There were three tests in total—two passes were required for the result to count.

Just then, a voice called from behind the coach.

“Coach, let me race him.”

The coach turned to see Tian Shiwei’s broad face, and not far behind him, the group of mischievous boys from the track team, clearly eager for a show.

“Get lost! What are you doing, stirring up trouble?” the coach snapped. Tian Shiwei was a good athlete, but he’d grown up in a wealthy family, never seen the rougher side of life, and was easy to egg on. Obviously, the others had put him up to this.

“Coach, we need to practice competing. No one ever runs alone in a real race. He’s doing well now, but what if he chokes when it really counts? We’re all worried you’ll bring in someone who’ll drag the team down, right?” Tian Shiwei shouted back to the group.

The rest of the track team fell silent. Not me. Not us. They all took a step back in unison.

Damn you guys…! Tian Shiwei was dumbfounded. Weren’t you all just agreeing with me?

At that moment, Director Shen Peng spoke up. “He has a point. The hundred meters may be run in separate lanes, but it’s still a head-to-head contest. Let them race. Let them see what they can do.”

Once the provincial director had spoken, the coach could hardly object. He wagged his finger at Tian Shiwei’s forehead, as if to say, I’ll remember this, you troublemaker.

Tian Shiwei forced a stubborn, ingratiating smile, because at this point, he really didn’t know what attitude would save him from this predicament.